


Comfort Food

by jenna_thorn



Category: Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:32:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna_thorn/pseuds/jenna_thorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate hollered “It’s me! Put on pants!” from the kitchen so the entire building could hear it and Clint sighed. One futzin’ time, dammit. </p><p>He shuffled out of the room, saying “Pants on, no weapons, what time is it, and why are you here?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Food

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lexigent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexigent/gifts).



Clint woke slowly, aware that he needed to be awake, but conscious enough to see the window and the accumulation of sloppy wet ice in the corner, and sure enough of why he was awake that he could slide his feet under the blanket and his hand under the mattress rather than rolling immediately out of bed. Then Lucky launched himself off the blankets, one clawed paw on Clint’s thigh, the other on his balls, and the blanket was kind of ridiculously fluffy but nothing was enough padding for _that_ so his hand tightened reflexively on the hilt of the knife. Kate hollered “It’s me! Put on pants!” from the kitchen so the entire building could hear it and Clint sighed. One futzin’ time, dammit. 

He shuffled out of the room, saying “Pants on, no weapons, what time is it, and why are you here?”

“You want to know the time or you want to know the day?”

“Kate, c’mon, it’s Wednesday.”

She didn’t correct him, so he’d gotten it right, yay. Lucky looked up at him expectantly. “You want food? You want walks? You want to go back to bed? You … want to fall asleep on the couch. Good, that’s good. Kate, tell me you are making coffee.” He flopped on the couch beside Lucky. He’d known it was Wednesday because of crossing the international date line some hours earlier, but damned if he could remember if it had been Tuesday or should be Thursday. 

“I’m making mac-n-cheese.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s not coffee, Kate.”

“I picked up mac-n-cheese to make it here, because I knew you didn’t have ingredients.”

“Mac-n-cheese doesn’t have ingredients; it takes a box.” Lucky looked up at him. Clint was pretty sure he wasn’t following the conversation either.

“Exactly, not gruyere or panko or…”Kate slammed something into the bag on the floor that Clint had set aside for cardboard recyclables in a Steve inspired fit of optimism about leading by example. Captain Futzin’ America goes off on a screed about recycling and Victory gardens, you set up a recyclables station. And then put wet food waste in it because Captain America doesn’t actually live here anyway. 

“Kate, please tell me you aren’t making Martha Stewart elbow macaroni with béchamel and five kinds of fancy cheese in my kitchen.”

“Exactly!”

So that was the fight she was having. Okay, he could work with that. “Cool. D’you get real blue box or the store brand?”

“Store brand!” she snapped.

“Good, good. I’ve got hot dogs to cut up in it.”

“The half empty package in the fridge that expired two months ago?”

“Hot dogs don’t really expire. S’like toilet paper, they just put that date on for the lawyers.”

“I threw them away anyway.”

“Lawyer.”

“I will wash your mouth out with soap, see if I don’t,” she snarled, but this time it was the good snarl, the snarky one and not the one that was wet around the edges. He leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. Lucky drooled on his thigh. Kate swore at the stove as the pilot light sputtered and caught. Yeah, okay, this was okay. Not bad at all.


End file.
